


Sometime Around Midnight

by purewanderlust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Oneshot, Pre-Series, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't really want to be here, but Brady insisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometime Around Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Gift!fic for Jenna, who asked for Stanford-era, Sam's POV, based off Airborne Toxic Event's song, "Sometime Around Midnight." Hope you like it, dear!

Sam doesn't really want to be here, but Brady insisted.

"Saaaaaaaaam," he'd whined (having learned in their first week as roommates to avoid 'Sammy' at all costs) "You never do _anything_ fun. Do you really want to spend your whole college career locked up in a library with some dusty old books?"

"It's hardly my whole college career," Sam had argued, "We've only been here four months."

Brady waved a dismissive hand. "Seriously, Sam, I've never met somebody who likes studying as much as you do. It's like someone told you that you'd die if you didn't do your research."

Sam stared at his book like it had done him a personal affront. Brady had no idea how close that statement was to the truth.

"Anyway, it's just one night, and there aren't any classes tomorrow." his roommate continued, oblivious to his discomfort, "I know for a fact you don't have anything due in the next three days."

Sam sighed, "If I come with you, do you promise to leave me alone about going out for at least a month?"

Brady cracked a grin, "I'll give you two weeks," he said, "I mean, really, Sam, how do you expect to find a girl if you don't ever go out? Or a dude, whatever, I don't judge."

Sam tossed his book aside and got to his feet with a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know why you're so determined to hook me up with somebody."

Brady bumped their shoulders together. "Hey, everybody's gotta fall in love sometime, right?"

Sam closed his eyes and thought of the smell of leather and gunpowder.

"I guess so."

*

So here they were in some stupid bar, drinking stupid fruity drinks and Brady was listing towards drunkenness. Privately, Sam hoped he would hurry up and get well and truly smashed so he could have a solid case for dragging him back to the dorms and getting his guaranteed two weeks free of harassment.

"Dude, why aren't you out there dancing?" Brady demanded, swinging down on to the barstool by his side, "There's chicks everywhere looking at you like dogs at a bone."

"Classy, man," Sam said with a roll of his eyes, "I'm sure every girl here would _love_ to hear you compare them to dogs."

"Is it the music?" Brady squinted at him, "You gotta something against Top 40? I know you listen to a lot of that mullet rock, so maybe you have no taste."

"I do not!" Sam protested with more outrage than was probably appropriate, but he was fairly drunk too, and he didn't want to think about anything that might remind him of The Argument or The Silence that had followed. Brady lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Yeah, okay, Sammy," he slurred, "I'll believe it when you can look me in the eye and convince me that you don't know all the words to 'Ramble On'."

"Don't fucking call me Sammy," he shoved Brady, with a little more force than necessary, and his roommate went careening into the guy who was just coming in the front door.

That guy who happened to be Sam's older brother.

"Whoa, man, you okay?" Dean said, catching Brady around the wrists before he could make it all the way to the floor.

"You're fast," Brady commented, "Cat-like reflexes." He pawed at Dean's face.

"And you, my friend, are drunk," Dean said with his for-civilians laugh. He stood Brady upright. "Be more careful, yeah?"

Brady pouted in his roommate's general direction, "Sam's fault." he leaned in close, like he was sharing a deep, dark secret, "He doesn't like to be called Sammy."

Dean looked up then, seeing Sam for the first time, standing frozen like he'd put down roots on the grimy barroom floor. There was a split-second flash of alarm in Dean's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Sam almost thought he'd imagined it, replaced by a cocksure smile.

"Sounds like you've got yourself a bitchy roommate, dude." Dean said to Brady. Sam clenched his fists.

Brady frowned. "How'd you know he was my roommate?"

"Lucky guess." Dean side-stepped Brady, still wearing that fake-as-hell grin, "Maybe be a little nicer to your friends, hm, Sammy?"

Sam opened his mouth to say something scathing, but Dean had slipped away as quickly as he'd come. Sam tried, without success, to combat the disappointment he felt welling up in his chest, irritated with himself.

"I'm gonna get another drink," he muttered, turning to head back to the bar. He flung himself down on a stool and ordered a whiskey sour, fuck those girly drinks.

"What, those dumb ass fruity things not doing it for you?" Dean slid in next to him, long fingers curled around the neck of a beer bottle. Sam swallowed and tried not to think too hard about his brother's hands.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Dean?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "Just passing through."

"Lots of things to hunt in Palo Alto?" Sam said accusingly, "Especially in a college bar?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sammy, sometimes a man just wants a beer," Dean shot back, his shoulders in a tense line that screamed _liar liar! >_

"Whatever, Dean, I don't need you checking in on me," Sam snapped, "I can take care of myself." 

"I didn't say you couldn't, Sammy." 

" _Stop calling me Sammy._ " he hissed venomously. He didn't know why he was being so harsh, but he'd had too much to drink, and Dean had taken him by surprise, and he was unreasonably angry about the whole thing. 

Dean's smirk faded a little bit, and Sam could see a flash of hurt though the cracks. "Sorry. I forget you're a big college boy now." He sat his bottle down with a loud _clink_ and stood up. "I'll just leave you to your super fulfilling life as a deserter." 

Sam badly wanted to reach out and pull Dean back, to feel his pulse under his fingers, to kiss that stupid fake smile off his face, but he knew it wasn't happening. He'd burned that bridge the moment he waved that college acceptance letter in his brother's face. Instead he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and schooled his expression into one of casual indifference. 

Dean stalked away, but he didn't leave. He crossed the room, and Sam identified his trajectory before he was even halfway there; a pretty girl with long red curls, sitting alone with a half-empty glass in front of her. He leaned down and rested his elbow on her table, megawatt grin firmly in place, and started chatting. She raised her eyebrows in amused disbelief, but after a moment she laughed and Dean slipped into the seat next to her, gesturing for another round. 

Sam felt something hot and vicious uncurl in his stomach and he turned back towards the bar, pretending that he wasn't watching out of the corner of his eye. 

Over the next twenty minutes, Dean and the redhead had four more shots and Sam matched them from the bar, drink for drink. Somewhere around the second shot, Dean's hand had disappeared under the table and the redhead started squirming in her seat in a way that didn't leave much to the imagination. After the fourth shot, she reached over and grabbed the back of Dean's neck and pulled him into a hungry kiss. 

Dean kissed her back enthusiastically, but his eyes were wide open, fixed on Sam from across the bar. Sam was watching openly now, defiant, and Dean pulled back from the kiss to whisper something into the girl's ear. She giggled and nodded, getting up from the table and pulling him along behind. 

As they passed the bar, Dean shot his brother a cruelly triumphant smile. "Have a good night, _Sam._ " And then he was out the door with the redhead, leaving Sam trembling with rage. 

"Dude, wassamatter with you?" Brady demanded, appearing at Sam's elbow. "You aren't having fun?" 

"No," Sam said through gritted teeth, "I'm really not." 

Brady frowned, aware even in his state, that something was wrong. "Do you want to go home?" 

"Yeah, I do." 

As they headed out onto the street, the band finally started in on a worthwhile song. Foreigner's 'Cold as Ice.' 

Sam had to laugh at the irony. 


End file.
